Welcome to Sherwood!
by OutlawEris
Summary: Robin Hood, bold outlaw of Sherwoof. Pfft! In Marian's eyes, Robert of Locksley's a sap and romantic who's going to end up with an arrow through his neck. Unless he has some VERY unusual help---
1. One Stupid Little Sot

A/N: I got this odd little idea during study, and I thought it would amuse someone (at the least it amuses me)! I know Marian isn't very likeable; she's not supposed to be. Haha. This really makes fun of the Robin Hood gang, so enjoy!  
  
(Written in Marian's point-of-view)  
  
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I propped my feet up on a table, staring lazily at my latest "love interest". His name was Robert of Locksley, and he was the most beautiful boy I have ever laid eyes on. His hair was this striking shade of gold, and his eyes were the most adorable, bright blue. He had one heck of a body, and was the best archer in the shire. He was kind and just, sweet and opinionated, witty and intelligent - the whole deal.  
  
I would let him down easily.  
  
Now don't get me wrong, this man was the idol god of every goose girl in the shire, but he was so naïve. I couldn't stomach his idealistic views, which he constantly poured out to me, crying about the injustice of serfdom and heavy taxation. Get over it! Everyone knows that some people just have to suffer. As long as it isn't me, I could really care less.  
  
But Robert had some sort of obsession with justice. He always wants things to be fair for the entire bloody population. Get a grip, dove. The world isn't going to be perfect, not with our "charming" sheriff and whining peasants. And I certainly wasn't going to be hopping for joy with you at my heels constantly.  
  
Not that I would ever say that to poor Robert, who hung on my every word. Poor boy would probably burst into tears and fling himself out a tower window. He was such a romantic; it was just the sort of thing he would do - a sign of his eternal devotion or some sentimental load like that.  
  
I wasn't planning to keep in contact with him much longer. Despite the overwhelming size of the Locksley lands, it wasn't worth the headaches I'd get from his self-righteous prattling. What a character.  
  
I was instead intent on quietly slipping out of our friendship and going to pursue that adorable lord's son, Master William of Norwell. Now there was a piece of work - muscles, looks and realism all in one debonair package. Not at all like this Robert whelp - no awkward boy desperate to express his adoration. All man.  
  
But fate and my temper intervened.  
  
Robert grinned adoringly at me. "Heavens, Mari, you're gorgeous today - a regular goddess of the sonnet." I smiled tolerantly at him, letting the stupidity of his romanticism pass without comment. He was so handsome when he looked up at me with that worship draped across his face.  
  
"My gratitude, Robert," I replied sweetly, leaning forward so that we were very close, "but I must ask how your charity idea has been going." Robert had been paying off the steward in an attempt to get Locksley's serfs more grain.  
  
"Oh, Mari! It's splendid! The serfs are much happier with more grain, and they all know my name now! I don't let them call me Milord anymore, but they have to when my father's around. But I have to help the peasants in the shire! I mean, the welfare of those on Locksley is important, but those in the shire - oh, Mari - they really." He went on like that for another few moments, lamenting the misery of Nottinghamshire's peasants.  
  
I tried so hard to hold my temper, but what a sap! All this compassion and sadness for a bunch of country laborers. I rolled my eyes and barked, "Well, if you feel so bad for them, why don't you do something about it?"  
  
Robert froze mid-preach to stare at me. "Marian, you're brilliant!" he cried, standing upright and flinging his arms wide. He was grinning madly, boyish excitement spread across his youthful features. "Oh, my Marian!" he yelped again, dropping to one knee and kissing my hand enthusiastically. "Such a brilliant, brilliant lady! My brilliant Mari!" He kissed my hand one last time and dashed out of the room, laughing happily at the ceiling.  
  
I blinked a few times in confusion, eyes intent on the hand he had adorned with his saliva. What had I done?  
  
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	2. Two Balding Geezers

A/N: Yes, this is an extremely short chapter, but I wrote six more during my Lenten absence from fanfiction.net, so no whining. Hehe. Jk jk. And yes, since I know you guys are going to ask I just have to put the finishing touches on my TurnJerkin chapter and then it will be up, I promise. You crack me up. But anyways---

"Robert" is indeed Robin. I just changed his name because it sounds nobler and more like a sot to me. But Marian will call him Robin later, when he starts to talk really fast and sounds like a bird twittering. But that's explained in another chapter. So just enjoy this minor and sad excuse for a chapter as best you can! 

Chapter 2

"That boy is going to get the thrashing of his life when he comes home!" the lord of Locksley bellowed, slamming his wine goblet back down on the wooden table. I watched as the fine drink sloshed onto his huge paunch and snorted. Uncouth fop. 

            "I promise you, James," he continued, leaning back in his chair and addressing my father, "That child's hide will be red as any flayed deer when I'm through with him." I rolled my eyes dismissively, letting out another snort from my corner. When my father met my eyes disapprovingly, I held a delicate fist to my mouth and coughed lightly. As if the lord of Locksley would find the energy to get off his enormous backside to thrash his favorite son. The most Robert would get would be a few nights without supper and some backhanded slaps. That much his father could do without moving. 

            I went about my embroidery silently, still listening intently to the conversation. I was presently unable to figure out what Robert had done to merit his father's words, but apparently it was pretty bad. 

            "Has he truly gone outlaw?" my father asked, taking a sip of his own drink, with decidedly more elegance. I almost dropped my embroidery. That stupid little sot and his romantic ideals! I knew he'd been listening to one too many minstrels. An outlaw? He'd be dead in a few days. And the innocent little optimist wouldn't even see it coming. 

            "Indeed. The little whelp thinks himself some sort of peasant's savior." Locksley belched loudly. "But he'll be home soon." My father shot me a warning glance as I sighed dramatically to myself. Robert was not going to give up this foolish, moronic, pinheaded little venture for a long time. I scowled, plucking resolutely at the fabric, wishing it were Robert's lips. Then I could sew them together in a neat little line, and his prattling would never irritate me again. And I would never make stupid, heedless, temper-driven comments to the babbling sot. And he would never take up the romantic's cross and head off to Sherwood, still in his silk and screaming sapphire hose. I scowled, heaving my shoulders as the two men conversed. However, no matter the anger his self-righteousness provoked in me, it was MY fault that the moron had headed off into the forest. Curse him! Curse him to the realms of Satan! Gargh! 

            I stabbed the songbird I was embroidering irritably, muttering about morons who understand nothing and nobody but their bloody ideals. There had to be a way to solve this Robert issue of mine. He had listened to me before….Ah, I would simply pay a visit to my forest idealist and talk him out of the childish venture. That was the plan.  

I would cling to the plan. 

Robert would cling to my every word. 

And by noontide tomorrow, the lord of Locksley would be clinging to his son's white neck.

£¤£¤£¤£ 

Ah, but the best-laid plants of mice and men…


	3. Three to the Devil

To the Devil with my plan.   
To the Devil with fops.  
To the Devil with saps and sots and flowers and minstrel song.   
And to the Devil's own mouth with Robert.   
He was near tears, eyes glistening childishly. "But..." his voice cracked, "But, Mari, I thought you'd like it. I thought you'd be proud of me! I'm doing something about it, see?" His voice squeaked at the last word and his lower lip trembled dangerously. My eyebrow twitched. I hadn't exactly expected this reaction to my suggestion that he go home.  
And as much as I didn't like the little fop, I had a conscience, no matter how sparingly I paid it heed. The sot was near tears! "No," I comforted quickly, "No, Robert, this is very nice. You're such a sweet, compassionate person to do this. I'm glad that you've decided to pursue your very just cause. I was only so worried for your well-being, my sweeting." That was just what he'd want me to say, something extremely romantic and classical. I hope he didn't notice my eyebrow was still twitching.  
He hugged me exuberantly, grinning. "Oh, Marian, you've made me so happy! At first, I was thinking of returning home, but now that I know you approve," He breathed in deeply. "I can bear it all." He kept his arms around me for a little bit longer, eyes closed as he smiled. Ouch. Hurt. Pain. Sting. Pfft! At least on his part.  
He could have fun in his little forest without me. I definitely didn't need his romanticism. I backed away from his embrace quickly, forcing him to relinquish his annoying hold around my waist, "Robert," I drawled, stepping away from his outstretched hand with an effortless flick of skirts, "You must understand that, much as I approve of this charitable venture, I cannot condescend to join you in it, as I must remain home." I clasped both of my hands remorsefully, folding them in front of myself and sighing miserably. "My dear father needs my household aid so desperately. His want, and his alone, my beloved, could keep me from you." Robert opened his mouth to reply, but I quickly silenced him with another loving epilogue. Little sucker fell right for them every time. "And so it is with greatest regret that I decide to support your just cause from the hollow comforts of my own home." Robert reached out for my hand, but I shook my head fervently, wiping a crocodile tear from my glistening eyes. Such a play-actor I was; I should have been in a traveling troupe. I'd have been the absolute favorite with crowds.  
"No, no, my love. I cannot bear to hold your hand, for the pleasure of its warmth should be too – too much for my weak constitution to bear. Pray," I turned my back to him, sniffling, "Pray take this token of my affection." I thrust my hand disconsolately towards him, still burying my face in my other hand. He slowly took my token, a ridiculous woven purse my father had given me, and murmured his awed assent. This exhibit of my admiration was obviously very much for him to take in, for he was silent. I bobbed my head and fled the area, "weeping".  
As soon as I was out of the area, I let my scowl come back. I needed help.

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A/N: Well, sorry it took me so long to update. I've been developing something remotely like a life as of late. shrugs hehe. I hope you liked this chapter! Next one's longer! And the one after that is much longer!!! 


	4. Four Legs on a Weasel

A/N: Well, I haven't updated in eons, I know. But we got a new computer, and so my dad told us to save all our files from the old one on floppies. And then what did the old man forget to do? Order a floppy drive on the new computer? Exactly!

(growls in irritation)

But we got a floppy drive for Christmas! Yay! So now I can go on an updating splurge! Enjoy!

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"Robert has gathered allies to himself." I spit wine out of my goblet and all over my new blue gown, feeling the hot red liquid dribble uncouthly down my chin. William of Gamwell, glorious in all his perfection, blinked a few times in surprise at my lack of manners. I simpered and dabbed the corners of my excessively lengthy sleeves against my chin, salvaging what little delicacy I could. He shrugged and arched an eyebrow. "Does this surprise you?" 

I shook my head. "Robert is always drawing people to him," I replied, letting my light arm rest coquettishly against his own. He peered curiously down at it for a moment, as if considering how fine it was, and then quickly removed his own arm and stood. I allowed myself a slight purse of the lips, and then regained my former glittering smile. No man turned me down. I was the most gorgeous girl in the shire, and he was going to know it soon. I sidled slowly towards him, forcing my hips to sway as I placed one foot in front of the other. He _would_ be mine. "Do you miss him?" I asked. Robert and William were very close friends (though not boy-lovers, thank God), so Robert's foolish venture was a lovely way to start conversation.

I let my head rest suggestively against his strong shoulder, satisfied by the superior height that was so lacking in Robert. "For I do," I murmured, gliding my fingers through his hair and closing both eyes, letting my lower lip tremble ever so slightly. If this didn't get him, I'd have to resort to some serious courtship effort.

William nodded deliberately, Adam's apple quivering deliciously. "That I do. Robert is forever doing foolish things to cause himself problems." He tried to ease himself from my lean, but I clutched his shoulder vehemently, letting my hair trail into my eyes. "So unlike yourself," I whispered, smiling rakishly at the surprise in his eyes. Innocence looked so _very_ good on him.

He suddenly ducked down, and I tripped over his hunched form, knocking my chin against the wall. Will, in an extreme show of rudeness, pretended to be searching for something while I righted myself. Well, this was an unexpected turn. But I was not so easily dissuaded. I was gorgeous and brilliant and witty and, well – I was _me_. No matter his loyalty to Robert, I was Marian of Whitby. He'd have to be queer to resist my charms for long. And we had all day to go at this.

"Pardon, milady, but are you saying you disapprove?" He blinked in false surprise, hands folded behind his back. An innocent smile played at the corners of his lips. My mouth dropped open. The weasel. The handsome, strong, masculine little weasel! He was acting! Play-acting! I grit my teeth, feeling my eyebrow twitch. Did he think he could fool me? Oh, bring it ON, lord's son. You have _no_ idea who you're up against. I've had competition; you're obviously used to being the one and only liar in your house. His pride would be his downfall.

I brushed my unkempt hair from my face. "I – well, I disapprove in a way, you understand. My dear Robert places himself in such dire danger." I pursed my lips and dropped my head, sighing disconsolately at my feet. William frowned, crossing his arms. He didn't like being played for a fool. I felt a grin spread across my face. Something competitive was gnawing at me, and a plan began to form. I didn't have to watch Robert; someone else could. Someone who was also wealthy…

"I – I also worry for him, milady," he replied cautiously, "but I do believe the peasants of Nottinghamshire deserve his aid." My head darted towards him, and I forced a delicate tear from my eye. "And would you join him if asked?"

He eyed my suspiciously, but then nodded. There was the "protective best friend" act to keep up, after all. He thought he could use it as an excuse to stop my advances. After all, what kind of friend would steal his buddy's love interest? It would seem all went in his favor.

SUCKER.

I grinned adoringly at my fellow noble. "Then I must make a request – would you watch over my Robert? You are not related to him, I understand, but since you are both such good friends…" William's chin nearly met his chest (the latter of which I had been staring at in fascination). But he saw the glint in my eye – a professional challenge. His eyebrow convulsed once – only once, I give him credit – but then he met my eyes, solemn promise acted out brilliantly in them.

"That I will."

A wry conqueror's smirk lit the corner of my lips.

Oh William, that would be peachy.

Just ever-so peachy.


	5. Five Fools in a Forest

A/N: Yay chapter 5! And yay great reviewers! (Like you guys!) :-)

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I yawned obnoxiously, finishing up my clumsy portrait of Saint Agnes on the altar cloth. My three ladies blinked in surprise at my uncouth behavior, glancing back and forth at one another suggestively. I wanted to snap that they were damn right about my coming life as a spinster, but something sharp and pointed came flying through the air and ripped straight through Lady Agustine's perfectly stitched primrose.

For once in my life, I REALLY loved Robert.

Augustine (which is indeed a man's name), Peony (a name which suits her mind), and Edwina (need I say more?) screamed frantically in chipmunk unison and scurried out of the room. I frowned as Peony screeched that I had shot an arrow at them and was trying to kill the entire manor, because I didn't think she'd caught onto my plan so quickly. (Or at least that was what I would tell the little bugger once I got my hands round her thick neck)

Sighing irritably, I dropped the altar cloth with GREAT CARE out the window and seated myself on the sill to read a message undoubtedly sent by Robert. Ah, yes. It smelled of the forest and flowers. The writing was more feminine than mine. There was a veritable bouquet wrapped round the shaft.

Most assuredly Robert.

He wasted nearly half the parchment repeating his usual proclamations of love, which I read EVER so carefully in exactly two moments. He then requested my "angelic presence" in his "mystic abode" that very afternoon. Oh, yes, Robin (my nickname for him when he talks too fast; reminds me of a bird chirping), I've nothing better to do than prance off to bloody Sherwood and frolick the day away with my good friends among the wild boars and insects. What a romantic day the two of us shall have, wallowing in the idealistic bogs and snogging in the center of tender mires. Did I mention the bloodthirsty outlaw choir?

Well, I suppose the little fool deserved a reward for the lovely scare he gave the ladies. Watching out for our poor guard sleeping below me (it was high time for his noonday nap), I dropped onto the ground. Sweet, sweet slumbering Wat. Were it not for him, I'd have no fun.

I could hear the outlaws before I saw them, a bad sign in Sherwood. Robert was reciting some ridiculous ballad about me, and Will was trying to shut him up.

I stepped into the clearing, smiling brightly and tenderly. William of Gamwell can kiss my boots. There is no better play-actor in England.

Robert, now in Robin mode, whirled around and grinned like he'd won the Most Romantic Sot in Britain contest third year running. "Marian!" he cried, and flung both arms tightly round my waist, forcing all the air from me. He kissed my hand (until it was soaked with spit), my face (concentrating on the lower half), my ear (don't ask), my eye (hope it was an accident), and everywhere else where it was possible without indecency.

As Robert set about my left hand, having found my right sufficiently dripping, I surveyed his new friends. A willowy blonde girl scowled at me with her gray eyes and hoisted a threatening shepherd's crook into both slender hands. Beside her sat a plain sort of man with dirty blonde locks falling into his green eyes. He was intent on fletching the perfect arrow as again and again he made minor corrections to a flawless shaft.

Removing my hand from under Robert's lips, I said, "Dearest, you have yet to introduce me to your new companions in hardship." His head shot up and he grinned adoringly. "How could I have forgotten, love?"

Will snarled at him. "Aye, she's all you ever bloody talk about." Robert's smile froze on his face, and his gentle hold on my hand become clinging and protective. "Will…" he asked cautiously, guiding me away from the handsome nobleman, "What's your name?" I arched an eyebrow, staring at William. What was wrong with---?

"Will Stutely," he snapped. Robert screamed, very much like a young kitchen maid, and ducked, shielding me with his body. I blinked in surprise and jerked my head up just in time to see Will knock Robin onto his back and begin furiously punching him.

The man with the arrow sighed nonchalantly and grabbed the nape of Will's neck. Without so much as a grunt he lifted him bodily and flung him across the camp into a cave. Then he quickly drew a makeshift wooden door across the cave entrance. "I'm Gilbert."

Robert sat up, holding his nose and FIGHTING TEARS. I sighed and knelt beside him. He smiled lovingly at me as I held my sleeve against his bleeding nose. Stupid little moron. "What was that?" I cried, tilting Robert's head, only a wee bit too harshly, back to stop the blood flow.

The willowy girl sighed, leaning against her crook. "William of Gamwell," she replied, "has serious issues. When he is feeling rather normal, he acts like himself. However, sometimes he'll wake up claiming that he's Will Stutely, and this Stutely character obviously has a desperate grievance against Robert, as he viciously beats him whenever he lays eyes on. Lastly, there's a rather nice creature he occasionally becomes – Will Scathelocke, a simple yeoman with just a few moments of unnecessary angst." She shrugged. "Luckily, his _most_ unpleasant personality usually plagues us for only a few hours at a time." She peered sidelong at the cave, from which I could hear loud yells and punches.

I eyed her slender figure suspiciously. "And who might you be, if you don't mind my question?"

"Clorinda," she snapped, smirking, "queen of the shepherdesses and lady knight of the order of the Crook." The fairly attractive sheep dignitary looked so bloody proud of herself; my morals simply would not allow for comment. Robert grinned at her. "Clorinda, tell Mari the ballad. She'll love it." My mouth fell open and I was about to smack the wannabe minstrel, but then he turned his hopeful, glimmering smile to me. "Would you not, love?"

Bloody right I would NOT.

"If you enjoy it, sweeting, it is assured I will as well." I bat my eyelashes once or twice, coyly brushing his hair behind one ear. Oh, he really was the most delicious feast for eyes I'd ever seen – WHEN HIS MOUTH WAS SHUT.

Clorinda began to recite some sheep-loving poem, gazing romantically upward into the sky as she spouted lyrics of admiration ---- for sheep. Sheep! Baaah. Baaah. Wool. Baaah. Baah. Baaa-------bah humbug! What WAS this? I swear, the simple strangeling was going to marry one of those dimwitted wool balls.

But that torturous preview of the Underworld simple wasn't enough punishment, was it? No, no, no. My vocal foretaste of Satan and all his torments had yet to end. And what a conclusion it was.

ROBERT joined in. And he knew _all the words_. Were they serious?

Oh, pinnacle of all oddity, they were. Gilbert the arrow boy arched an eyebrow at me and shrugged, rolling his eyes. He then returned to his fletching, attacking another unsuspecting twig with furrowed brow and serious eyes.

Thoroughly bored by twig boy, I turned to watch Robert and Clorinda, who were smiling brightly at one another. Very brightly. Shining star brightness. Lovers in a ballad's glade bright.

I scowled. Nice try, you mooching wannabe.

"Robert, dove," I called in my sweetest maiden voice. He turned around, huge blue eyes bright and merry and ----- oh, he was SO gorgeous. Why did he have to be so irritating? "Robert, love, your singing seems to be disturbing Master Gilbert's work. And I believe it to be rather important that you are in possession of a goodly amount of arrows."

Clorinda snarled visibly at me. That's right, fluff ball child. Keep the sheep's eyes in OFF my Robert and ON the livestock.

Robert turned confusedly to Gilbert, who smiled sheepishly. "It is a wee bit hard to concentrate, Robert," he commented.

The latter turned adoringly to me. "You're so considerate, Marian." I bat my eyes coquettishly and giggled, flicking my wrist in girlish disbelief. Eat your wool-draped heart out, Clorinda.

But she draped her graceful, if callused, hand atop Robert's shoulder. "Ah, Gilbert can handle himself, Rob." She turned quickly to grin wickedly at me.

Oh, bring it on, girlie goat.

Robert turned confused eyes between the three of us; smiling apologetically at Clorinda; making lover's eyes at me; and finally wincing pleadingly at Gilbert. The last of us sighed and jabbed his twig at the wannabe queen. "Clorinda, duck," he snapped, "I can NOT handle myself with all of the singing you and Robert are making, so please stop." Without waiting for the almighty shepherd-woman to open her mouth, he returned to his fletching. Robert nodded his agreement placidly and put an arm around Clorinda's slumped shoulders. "Ah, dear Clorinda, all is fine. Would you like to go fetch some water for us with me? I am sure we can sing by the river." Clorinda smiled sweetly at him and delicately drew some light blonde hair behind her slight ears. "I suppose so, Rob." He grinned at her, and the both of them alighted from the rock.

They turned to leave, Robert's arm still comfortingly round her shoulder. My mouth dropped open. DEAR Clorinda? DEAR?

The shepherdess turned her pretty little head around and smirked evilly at me, latching possessively to Robert's waist.

I arched an eyebrow at her and made a rude gesture with my hand. Pluck yew.

Robert thought HE would walk away from ME? He had quite another thought coming his foppish way. NO man took so much as a step in the direction opposite me. No man even _thought_ of doing such. And no man ever would.

I bloody well planned to remind Robert of that fact.


End file.
